White death falls from above, covering all beneath its chill grasp. It lingers in hidden nooks, disguising danger with the appearance of flatness.
When will it leave?
When will the warmth of summer return?
None can tell, for the powdery ice listens not to the whims of men.
All one can do is find someplace safe, warm, and dry; and wait out this winter storm.
No comments:
Post a Comment